


Take What the Water Gave Me

by queen_of_regrets



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_of_regrets/pseuds/queen_of_regrets
Summary: Aziraphale had lost Crowley and the world was ending in a few hours.orYet another take on “instead of Crowley running into the burning bookshop, Aziraphale rushes to Crowley’s flat and finds nothing but a puddle of holy water and the melted remains of a demon”





	Take What the Water Gave Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing initially inspired by this [text post](https://corellon-grace.tumblr.com/post/185495421795/okay-but-imagine-if-aziraphale-dodged-the-portal). I'm just an absolute sucker for this idea and I needed more.
> 
> Enjoy! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Getting rid of Sergeant Shadwell was more of an annoyance if anything. After miracling his mind clean of the conversation he’d witnessed, Aziraphale gave Shadwell his advance payment and quickly shooed him out of the shop.

 

He’d wasted enough time as it were trying to appeal to Heaven about stopping Armageddon. Crowley was right after all. Heaven didn’t give a damn. It truly was them against the rest of the world - or rather the forces of Heaven and Hell combined.

 

Really it was high time he let Crowley know he knew who the Antichrist was and where to find him. Plus, he owed the demon an apology. And since Crowley didn’t seem inclined to talk to him over the phone he’d just have to go over to his flat himself.

 

There wasn’t much he could do about the summoning circle, so he left it as is. Although he made sure to lock and double bolt the door to his bookshop. Didn’t want someone walking in and accidentally blasting themselves to smithereens after all.

 

Normally he’d have walked or taken a cab to Crowley’s flat. He quite enjoyed the journey and all. But there was simply no time. Besides, it wasn’t like Heaven was keeping track of how many frivolous miracles he was performing, what with Armageddon underway.

 

With a quick miracle he found himself at the end of the hallway leading to Crowley’s flat. It was quiet, as was typical. And yet … it was _too_ quiet. None of muffled sounds of Crowley shouting at his plants, nor the usual ruckus made by the little old woman on the floor below. Just, silence.

 

Ignoring the sense that something was off, Aziraphale set off at a brisk pace towards Crowley’s door situated closer to the other end of the hall. Only to be met with another peculiar sight.

 

The door was ajar. Aziraphale paused. That was odd. Crowley never left the door open. It was always locked.

 

Aziraphale swallowed back his growing apprehension. “Crowley?” He gingerly pushed the door, dimly noting that the lock was broken. “Are you in there?”

 

Before he could even cross the threshold, the foul stench of something burnt wafted over him. A strange mix of plastic, oil, and flesh with a sulfuric tinge to it.

 

Alarmed, Aziaphale stepped into the empty foyer. “Crowley? What the devil have you been - ” his words instantly fell flat at the sight before him.

 

The door to the office at the end of the hall was thrown wide open. Just beyond the entrance a glistening dark sludge streaked the floor. It was hard to miss in the near spotless apartment.

 

“ _No,_ ” he breathed, drifting closer, hardly daring to _believe_ -

 

The sludge was clearly demonic. A burnt and blackened circular patch on the floor surrounded the sticky remains. It was drenched in a liquid that held a certain sheen that was only discernible to the ethereal and which could only be one thing.

 

Holy water.

 

On the desk was the old-fashioned tartan thermos flask he’d given Crowley over fifty years ago. The top was unscrewed with the cap carefully set next to it.

 

“No, no, no, no, no,” he backed away from the office, out over the threshold until his back hit the wall of the outer hallway. The world was tilting, out of focus, the cold stone wall the only thing keeping him upright.

 

He never thought he’d actually - he wouldn’t, he’d _promised_ -

 

No, he reflected with mounting horror, Crowley never promised anything. The ice cold of the stone wall was seeping through his skin and spreading through his core. Aziraphale had just hoped, that after everything they’ve been through, _together_ , Crowley would never resort to such a _horrid_ fate.

 

But he’d left Crowley on his own hadn’t he? He’d ignored Crowley’s pleas to flee, holding on the foolish belief that heaven would want to stop the war. He’d abandoned him and Crowley had taken him own life and now Aziraphale was truly _alone_ -

 

“Oh Crowley, my dear _Crowley_ ,” he moaned, “This is all my fault. I should’ve - I _should’ve_ \- ” he couldn’t finish. The ice had encapsulated his throat rendering his words useless.

 

And the worst part was Crowley wasn’t human. He wasn’t going to heaven or hell after his death. He was gone - he was well and truly _gone_.

 

He’d never should have withheld the information about the Antichrist from him. He should’ve listened to him, he should’ve left with him, he _should’ve_ -

 

He could still see the sludge from his vantage point outside. He blinked and the door slammed shut.

 

He couldn’t stay here. He had to leave.

 

Aziraphale’s legs seemed to move of their own accord as they carried the angel away from the door and down the hall. The ice had completely taken over leaving him hollow and empty.

 

Aziraphale had lost Crowley and the world was ending in a few hours. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. It was only dimly that he realized he had nowhere to go.

 

For the first time, in a very, very long time, Aziraphale felt incredibly lost.

  


❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

  


At this point, the storm clouds gathering in the sky were so dark it might as well have been night. The wind was howling, the rain lashing, and a 1926 black Bentley was zipping through central London at over a hundred miles per hour. It’s occupant, the demon Crowley, was rather distressed but trying as hard as he could to play it cool. He was failing.

 

The Bentley rode up onto the pavement outside Aziraphale’s bookshop and came to a screeching halt. Crowley was out of the car and up the stairs in the blink of an eye. The doors opened automatically as he approached them, “Aziraphale?” he called, snapping his fingers to close the doors to the storm brewing outside.

 

They were running out of time.

 

“Aziraphale?” he called again desperately into the relative quiet of the shop, “Where in the heavens did you -” He broke off suddenly, panic seizing his chest. It was so faint he’d almost missed it. But there, just beyond Aziraphale’s many stacks of books, was an unmistakable blue glow emanating from the floorboards.

 

“ _Shit_.” He rushed forward, careful not to step in the cabalistic circle filled with intricate symbols. The ethereal light filling the circle was more muted than its typical blinding nature. And now that he was paying attention he could vaguely hear the lingerings of a weird musical humming noise.

 

It was still charged. Crowley sighed in relief. Heaven hadn’t taken him away - not yet at least.

 

But then where was - ?

 

The chime of the bell above the door interrupted his thoughts. Crowley whipped around to find Aziraphale standing at the entrance looking very windswept in every sense of the word.

 

“Angel! There you are!” He moved toward Aziraphale, glancing wearily back at the open portal to Heaven. He’d prefer to put as much distance between him and Aziraphale, and that damn thing as possible. “Look, we really don’t have much time here. You said you found the Antichrist, right? Well? Where is he? We need to get - We need -” he faltered. He was just now registering the extremely odd look on Aziraphale’s face, “What? What’s wrong?”

 

It was as if something had snapped inside Aziraphale, “You absolute _bastard!_ ”

 

Crowley blinked, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“What the _hell_ , Crowley?” Aziraphale advanced, the emotions on his face now suddenly abundantly clear - anger and grief and pain, such overwhelming _pain_ , “I thought you were dead! I thought you were fucking _dead!_ Damn you, you insufferable demon!”

 

Aziraphale had never cursed this openly in nearly six thousand years. Had the situation been different, Crowley would’ve been impressed. But as it were, it was rather unnerving. And only added further to Crowley’s mounting confusion, “Aziraphale, what in God’s name are you talk-” he was cut off by Aziraphale quite literally launching himself at Crowley. His arms wrapped tightly around the demon, his face buried in the crook of his neck.

 

Needless to say, Crowley was at an utter loss. Sobs racked Aziraphale’s entire being as he clutched desperately at Crowley’s jacket. It was all very un-Aziraphale-like of him and it was freaking Crowley out.

 

“Angel?” he asked tentatively, his hands hovering over Aziraphale. He didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t know how to react. His angel was in shambles and he didn’t know how to fix it.

 

“Gone,” the angel croaked, “You were gone, and I thought - I thought I _lost_ you.”

 

Crowley’s mind was racing. Lost him? Why would Aziraphale ever come to that conclusion?

 

Then it occurred to him. He’d left the melted remains of Ligur on the floor. He hadn’t thought twice about it. He’d been too concerned about getting to Aziraphale. But Aziraphale had come to find him first. And he’d come to his flat. He’d seen the remains and he’d had thought - oh dear Lord.

 

“Oh, angel.” His arms enveloped Aziraphale, burying a hand in his feather-soft hair. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He leaned his head against Aziraphale’s.

 

He couldn’t even begin to fathom the true extent of Aziraphale’s anguish.

 

But then, for the briefest moment, his imagination took hold - Aziraphale perishing in an inferno of hellfire and being far too late to stop it.

 

His grip on Aziraphale tightened. Somewhere in another dimension indiscernible to the human-eye a pair of well-groomed black wings wrapped protectively around the angel with the ruffled white wings in the demon’s arms.

 

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity, but in reality was only a few minutes.

 

Eventually, Aziraphale emerged with a final sniffle, revealing his tear streaked face. The sight of it broke Crowley’s heart.

 

“Ah,” Aziraphale’s fingers ghosted over the tear-stains he’d left on Crowley’s jacket, “I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t mean to - I know how much you care about - ”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Crowley reassured him, looking over Aziraphale’s face with careful scrutiny. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t just ask, ‘Are you alright?’. That was a stupid question - of course he wasn’t.

 

As if reading Crowley’s thoughts, Aziraphale gave him a tight-lipped smile, his eyes still watering slightly, “Oh I’ll be alright.” He brought his hand up to scrub away at the tear stains on his cheeks and laughed weakly, “I must look a terrible frightful sight.”

 

Crowley caught Aziraphale’s wrist in his hand. Aziraphale looked up at him inquisitively. Without thinking, he brought up his other hand to cup the angel’s cheek. He gently wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. “You’re an angel. I don’t think you can look anything _but_ beautiful.”

 

The angel’s eyes widened, “Well I - _really_ Crowley - I - uh,” he sputtered, then the ghost of a smirk fluttered over his lips, “Are you implying that all the other angels are beautiful as well?”

 

Crowley’s nose scrunched up in disgust, “Definitely not. All the others are complete wankers. You’re the one exception.”

 

Aziraphale laughed, a bright smile adorning his features, and ducked his head against Crowley’s chest.

 

Crowley rested his chin atop Aziraphale’s head and sighed in content. He lazily let his gaze drift toward windows lining the shop. The rain from the storm outside was pouring so heavily that it completely obscured the window-pane.

 

The storm.

 

Armageddon.

 

Shit.

 

He’d been so caught up in Aziraphale’s breakdown that he’d completely forgotten that the world was about to end.

 

“Angel, I hate to break this up, truly,” he gently pushed Aziraphale back so that he could properly look at him, “But Armageddon’s still on the way and we still need to find the Antichrist.”

 

Aziraphale nodded, stepping slightly out of Crowley’s embrace much to the demon’s displeasure, “Right, right,” his eyes suddenly lit up, “I know where he is! The Antichrist! He’s in Tadfield! There’s still time! We could make it!” He gripped Crowley’s shoulders, shaking him slightly in excitement. The grin on his face was so blindingly bright and hopeful.

 

Crowley couldn’t help but smile back.

  


❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

  


The storm was operating at full force now. The apocalypse was just on the brink of unfolding. Thunder rumbled, somewhere fish were falling from the sky, and an angel and a demon were speeding towards the end of the world.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re craving more of this angst, I’d highly recommend [EnvolopedByOblivion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnvelopedByOblivion/pseuds/EnvelopedByOblivion)'s fic, [The Holiest Water](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159189/chapters/45538756#workskin) , which plays off the same idea & somehow manages to capture the writing style of the actual book perfectly?? I loved it. Check it out.
> 
> Feel free to hmu [@queen-of-regrets](http://queen-of-regrets.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr (◠‿◠✿)


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